


Tiny spaces

by nashirah



Series: words we missed [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/pseuds/nashirah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met a long time before Parrish became a deputy in the middle of nowhere, North California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiny spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel that is actually a prequel to [Names I've given](archiveofourown.org/works/1224730) (not strictly necessary to unerstand, but will definitely help!).
> 
> Also kind of started as a joke [here](http://lonewolfed.tumblr.com/post/77463375694/derek-and-parrish-could-be-the-same-age-maybe-they), but then it got out of hand.
> 
> It was muy interesting to tackle a different side of Parrish (for all that we know him from his three minutes of screentime), even though the fic was mostly tears and blood when it was being written. Would not make it without my bb [celle](http://bluecartography.tumblr.com), ilu.

The waiting room, on top of being the last place on earth Parrish currently wants to be in, is a tiny, dimly lit space comprised of three uncomfortable plastic chairs and a stack of outdated gossip magazines. The only light comes through two windows roughly the size of a postcard each.

One of the chair is occupied by a guy with impressive eyebrows and a scowl that doesn’t match his young face. Parrish deliberately sits in the chair on the far left, leaving some space between them. It’s really uncomfortable, hard plastic imprinting on his bones and reminding him of those small wooden benches inside the army trucks. They were ridiculously small, both the benches and the trucks, his buttcheeks barely on the seat and only the fact that there were so many of them inside kept him from falling down.

Parrish exhales slowly, trying to clear his mind.

He looks at the other guy, who is still scowling, staring at the opposite wall as if it has killed his favorite puppy. Anger literally comes off of the guy in waves and reaches Parrish.

“First time?” he asks, trying to make his face open and friendly, just like he was taught. It comes to him easily, almost naturally, even though Anger Management Issues next to him seems impervious to positive reinforcement. 

“No,” he answers and his voice doesn’t match the mad frown he’s sporting either, soft around the edges. Despite the softness, his tone doesn’t sound inviting and Parrish knows he should let it go, rationally he’s aware of that, but there’s something that always tells him to just go on, no matter what.

“It’s my first. My CO made me do it. Standard procedure,” he says, looking away from the guy and then again at him and he opens his mouth too, and maybe his reply would be a snarled “I don’t care”, accompanied by an angry frown. Or maybe something else, maybe he’d end up introducing himself and offering him a handshake, and Parrish would take it, unsurprised at how strong his hand is, shaking it with as much force, because last two years of his life were all about strength.

But the guy never replies, never does anything, interrupted by a squeak of the door opening that has them both wincing.

“Mr. Hale? Doctor Abbott is waiting for you.” A short, blond haired woman peeks at them from behind the door, smiling at the guy as he jumps to his feet, ready to follow her inside.

“Good talk,” Parrish mumbles under his nose. 

It’s impossible for the guy to hear him, but Parrish swears he can see his eyes narrow before the secretary leads him inside the office.

*

It’s two weeks later and they meet again in that tiny ten by fifteen waiting room, and it’s Parrish who arrives first this time, Hale (Anger Management Issues has a last name now) striding in a few minutes later.

His frown firmly in place, he sits in the chair next to Parrish.

He’s wearing leather jacket, and Parrish noticed that last time too, but now he sees that the sleeves are too long, covering the guy’s fingers almost completely. Parrish has a fleeting thought that maybe it belonged to his older brother, not that he would ask, but then Hale speaks up.

“It’s my third.”

“Your third?” Parrish repeats and gets it. “Your third time here?”

“No. My third therapist.”

Parrish lets out a quiet oh and before he can say anything else (he doesn’t know what he’d say anyway), the door to Doctor Abbott’s office open and it’s time for his appointment.

Hale is looking away, but Parrish nods at him anyway.

*

The thing is, the company of Derek’s angry eyebrows and their stilted conversations become the only enjoyable part of the appointments. 

The therapist tells him that he’s not open enough, that he’s deliberately keeping her out and they’re not making any progress, that he needs that first step to be able to let go and it’s a bitter laugh that builds in Parrish’s throat as he smiles at her politely, swearing up and down that he will work on it.

As he leaves her office and catches Hale’s eyes, Parrish wonders what lies he leaves behind that door too.

*

It’s the first time he hears Hale’s soft voice sound rough, a bit primal. He’s not yelling, not really, but it’s loud enough to come through the closed doors. Parrish has enough of a warning, doesn’t flinch when the door bursts open and Hale storms out, his leather jacket in hand, the doctor hot on his heels. She doesn’t follow him, though.

Parrish does.

The guy is _fast_ , Parrish catches up to him maybe three streets later, grabbing his arm to spin him around. 

Hale’s eyes are intense, way bluer than usually and Parrish has been wondering about the color of his eyes for the past few weeks, because sometimes they’re green and then they’re not, like now.

Hale’s breathing loudly, clearly trying to calm himself down and failing miserably. Parrish doesn’t let go of his arm, just pushes until they’re out of the way, because they’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk and of course it’s the middle of the day in the middle of the city and people are milling about, bumping into them relentlessly.

“Hey. Hey, whatever has been said in there? Forget it. Just try to breathe for me, slowly. Slower than that. Yeah, okay. Here you go.”

For a long while Hale just looks at him and Parrish waits until he’s completely sure he actually sees him before he says, “Let’s go get lunch together.”

“What,” Derek says, and it’s not even a question.

“Let’s eat. Since you just flushed a two hundred bucks appointment down the drain,” Parrish explains patiently, laughs when Hale asks what one has to do with another but leads the way anyway.

*

“I don’t even know your name.”

Parrish grins at that.

“I only give my name to my dates,” he says and gets a ridiculous look in return, Hale’s eyebrows raised higher that he’s ever seen them. Parrish follows Hale’s gaze and alright, they’re in some fancy restaurant eating lunch that comes in courses. “Your eyebrows have a point. My name’s Kyle.”

Hale just nods, poking at his steak, so Parrish continues, “But I’m used to Parrish. You know, two years in the army. Old habits. What about you, though? I only know your last name because of the shrink. Hale, right?”

“Derek Hale,” Hale nods again and after a short hesitation he reaches over the table, extending his hand to Parrish.

And Parrish takes it, and he holds it a little bit longer than strictly necessary, circles a curious thumb around the callouses on his fingers before releasing it.

They don’t talk much; Derek is big neither on small talk nor on sharing personal information, Parrish learns. But he also learns that he hates undercooked food and white wine, and that’s something.

*

It’s an honest surprise to see Derek in the waiting room the following week.

“Wanna ditch?” he asks before Parrish has a chance to sit down.

Parrish just nods and they don’t go far. There’s this small bathroom downstairs, it belongs to the restaurant under the doctor’s office and the clear sign “PERSONNEL ONLY” is promptly ignored by Derek as he shoulders his way inside, pushes Parrish against the closed door and drops to his knees.

Oh.

This is and isn’t a surprise at the same time. Parrish knew that it’d happen sooner or later, after all, but seeing Derek on his knees, tugging at Parrish’s jeans impatiently is still too out of context for Parrish to just go with it.

Still, his right hand moves to card through Derek’s hair almost on autopilot, while his left is busy helping him with the zipper. He’s not even hard at this point, but Derek mouths at him through his underwear and his dick twitches, interest piqued. The interest doesn’t seem to be enough for Derek, though, because he gets to his feet and changes his approach entirely. He starts to nibble at Parrish’s neck with intent, pinning him to the door until Parrish lets out an involuntary moan and pushes Derek’s hands down, back to where they belong, below his waist. He guides his fingers further down, their joined hands brushing over the front of Parrish’s boxers. Derek makes a strangled sound when Parrish takes over, squeezing the outline of his cock with Derek’s fingers.

“Are you gonna get it out, or make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager?” Parrish groans, letting go of Derek’s hands in favor of pushing his boxers down, because there’s a wet spot on them already.

Derek ignores Parrish’s question and gets back to his knees, placing one of his hands on Parrish’s hip to hold him in place and the other at the base of his cock. He looks up, gives Parrish a second to release a stuttering breath, and takes him in his mouth. It begins slowly, with a rhythm that makes Parrish keen loudly and he grasps at the back of Derek’s head, not exactly pushing, but trying to make Derek pick up the pace with gentle pressure. Derek seems to get the message, because he hums contentedly around Parrish’s dick and speeds up. Parrish’s dick twitches in his mouth and he’s glad that Derek’s hand is pinning him in place, because his knees buckle when his dick hits the back of Derek’s throat.

He moves his hands from the back of Derek’s head to tug at his hair and Derek seems to be okay with it, judging by the way his eyes roll back and his eyelashes flutter, but he’s still focused on working Parrish’s dick.

“Fuck,” he moans breathlessly, trying to be quiet, remembering suddenly they’re somewhere they really shouldn’t be. “Derek, I’m-”

He knows he won’t last as long as he’d like to and Derek seems to realize that. Or maybe it’s the desperation in Parrish’s voice, his words cracking when he begs Derek for who the fuck knows what, begging just for the sake of it and Derek looks up at him, knowing exactly what he needs. He practically _swallows_ Parrish’s dick, his hand working up at the base where his mouth can’t reach, the pace a little erratic, a little too much and Parrish comes with a gasp.

Parrish is still panting through the little tremors shaking his body while Derek licks some stray droplets and gets up, one firm hand still anchoring Parrish and thank god, because he has no strength left in his legs.

When they kiss at last, it’s the bitter taste of his own come on Derek’s tongue that he remembers later. That, and the way Derek avoids his gaze and says it’s not necessary when Parrish offers to return the favor.

*

Ditching the appointments in favor of mutual orgasms turns into a habit neither of them seems to be able to break.

Neither of them seems to want to, though.

For the most part, Derek is still a mystery Parrish doesn’t try to solve. They meet, they fuck, they part their ways. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. 

For the most part, they’re both an odd puzzle that doesn’t want to fit.

*

Laura Hale is the first woman in Parrish’s adult life to ever see him naked.

He’s half sprawled on top of Derek and it’s seven thirty in the morning on a Saturday when she bursts into Derek’s small apartment and sweeps them both with a long, calculating look.

Derek seems unfazed and only marginally angry. One of the few things Parrish learned about him is that sucking an orgasm out of Derek simultaneously sucks out all the anger as well.

“What do you want.”

“For you to use proper inflection in your questions,” she says and immediately introduces herself to Parrish, completely bypassing that he’s buck naked, starfished on her brother’s bed.

(He doesn’t know she died, not until much later, when he’s reading Derek Hale’s files on his computer, complete with a mugshot, fingerprints and the suspicion that he killed his sister).

*

They’re not friends, not buddies, not brothers in arms, not even two strangers who occasionally meet for some exceptionally mind-blowing sex. Parrish has long since given up to form some kind of definition describing their situation properly.

But.

But it still makes something heavy set in his stomach when he lets himself into Derek’s apartment with a spare key one day and there’s nothing but bare walls to greet him.

*

They make him go through the entire therapy.

There’s no ditched appointments anymore, no one to share the claustrophobic waiting room with, there’s no _them_.

It’s just him and all those tiny spaces.

*

He’s allowed to work as an active police officer after he completes a never-ending series of tests and transfers to a small town on the other side of the country, in the middle of nowhere, North California.

*

Parrish almost doesn’t recognize him, and not because he’s older and there’s a proper stubble on his face, making him look more mature, or because he’s looking back at him without the perpetual frown Parrish associated him with.

Or even because he’s looking back at him from behind the bars.

It’s because the anger is gone and everything that was beneath it, everything that Parrish knew was there, is suddenly on display.

“Hale,” Parrish says and Derek finally blinks, looks down.

“Parrish,” he says to his hands, curled in his lap.

“You comfortable there?”

“Not my first time,” Derek replies and Parrish lets out a humorless laugh.

“I’m sorry that we can’t ditch this time,” he says.

*

The fact that Derek is released a few hours later - no evidence that he helped Chris Argent whatsoever - goes unnoticed because the whole station is in frenzy. There’s a murderer or two on the loose and they’re still dealing with the bomb’s aftermath. It’s a whirlwind of fake leads and coffee marathons, the Sheriff trying to tie the loose ends tirelessly despite the fact that nothing adds up. 

And then the whirlwind ends, almost as abruptly as it started, and even though nothing makes sense any more than it did before, it’s calmed. It’s just the Sheriff struggling to share his time between his job and the hospital where his son is at. 

FBI agents leave the town, case unsolved.

And then it changes again and suddenly Stiles is there too, in Parrish’s space, and he doesn’t leave.

*

He’s been keeping track of that blue jeep for the Sheriff for so long that it’s a knee-jerk reaction now to want to check if Stiles is okay.

Stiles seems like it, judging by the way his face animatedly tries to prove one point or another, one of his hands thrumming an irregular rhythm against the steering wheel, the other gesturing madly.

But the most surprising thing is who he is gesticulating _at_ , because next to him sits _Derek Hale_. He’s listening to Stiles, frowning slightly, looking as if he wants to interrupt him but never does so.

Parrish watches as two of his worlds collide in that tiny space inside of the jeep.

**Author's Note:**

> if you think this is the end of this madness you are mistaken (god, what am i doing) and i'm not implying anything but there are three players in the game now, ha


End file.
